


Spinning World

by spilled_notes



Series: December of Drabbles [3]
Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-09-07 12:16:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8800489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spilled_notes/pseuds/spilled_notes
Summary: A series of vignettes about some of the beds Bernie and Serena share. Not necessarily connected, and in no particular order.





	1. Egyptian Cotton

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Carol Ann Duffy's _Anne Hathaway_ : 'The bed we loved in was a spinning world...'

Sunday. Their first Sunday together. Jason is spending the day with Celia and her family, has already gone out and will be back in time for dinner but not before. Neither of them is on call. Neither of them has anywhere to be, anything to do, anyone to see. For once, for these few precious hours, the world really is reduced to them, to this bed. Everything outside these four walls, these soft sheets, can cease to exist for all they care.

Neither of them is one for sleeping in, for spending mornings off lazing in bed. But while they’re both now in bed they’re not lazing, and certainly not sleeping.

Serena feels a delicious ache in her thighs, a delicious warmth against her back. Bernie’s hand skimming over her stomach, her rib cage, the edge of her breast.

‘I hope you’re planning to do more than tease,’ she murmurs.

Bernie smiles against her skin, kisses her neck. ‘Should’ve known you’d be insatiable, Miss I’ve-never-seen-the-point-of-just-one.’

‘Better than Shiraz, you are.’

‘High praise indeed,’ Bernie says, with a low throaty chuckle that Serena feels vibrate through her whole body.

Bernie’s fingertips stroke her nipples through her pyjamas, and she groans softly as Serena arches against her. She misses being able to kiss her, see her face (already – god, it hasn’t even been a full week and she misses watching her expression change as she touches her), but there’s something she loves about being in this position. Perhaps it’s being so close, feeling so much of Serena in contact with her.

Bernie had insisted they wear pyjamas last night (after they had undressed each other, made love, lavished kisses and touches over every inch of skin), what with Jason being in the house. Serena had assured her he wouldn’t disturb them, but still. Now, however, she’s regretting it, is desperate for the smoothness of Serena’s skin against hers. She draws away a little to begin the process of undressing them both, of revealing Serena to her eyes, her hands, her lips, when Serena grips her arm and holds her in place.

‘Want to feel your skin,’ Bernie protests.

‘Don’t want you to stop,’ Serena counters, breathless.

She twists so Bernie can see the look on her face, the glint in her eyes. Brushes a kiss to her lips before letting her head drop to the pillow again, hand guiding Bernie’s fingers back to her breast.

Bernie nuzzles into the too small patch of bare skin at the nape of her neck, traces patterns with her nose as she presses hot kisses everywhere she can reach. Her hand drifts lower, sneaks under the hem of Serena’s top, fingertips leaving shivers in their wake.

Lower again, over the curve of her hip, the soft expanse of her thigh.

‘Bernie,’ she murmurs, and Bernie wonders how she ever thought she could live without this.

*

As they will be every night Bernie spends here, Serena’s sheets were pristine when they came into the room. And, as will also happen frequently, this doesn’t last. They end up rumpled and, in places, damp, the delicious tang of sex tainting the freshly-washed scent.

Bernie has never slept between 600 count Egyptian cotton sheets before. They’re certainly soft. But, she decides when Serena impatiently tugs the pyjamas from both of them later, they’ve got nothing on Serena’s skin.


	2. just you and the moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from _Eavesdrop_ by The Civil Wars.

It turns out that, under her big macho army medic exterior, Bernie is quite the romantic – at least where Serena is involved. As is evidenced by the fact that she’s whisked Serena away for a weekend in Edinburgh, ‘just because’. (‘Because you deserve a break, after everything that’s happened,’ she elaborates when coaxed. ‘Something nice. A treat.’)

As is evidenced by the fact that, following a delicious dinner (including dessert and a rather expensive Shiraz, thank you very much), Serena allowed herself to be dragged up Calton Hill to watch the sun set over the city, delicate wisps of cloud shot with pink and gold in the darkening sky. With Bernie’s arms wrapped around her stomach, Bernie’s front pressed against her back, she relaxes into her embrace, covers Bernie’s hands with her own. She’s grateful Bernie doesn’t feel the need to fill every silence because she doesn’t think she’d be able to speak around the lump in her throat, through the swell of love for this woman who is still here, still beside her and holding her tight, despite everything.

As is evidenced by the very nice B&B Bernie booked them into, by the fact that she arranged for them to stay in a room with Campbell tartan upholstery and a stunning view of Arthur’s Seat from the balcony.

That, however, isn’t the stunning view Bernie takes in when she inexplicably finds herself awake at 3.30 in the morning. No, Bernie finds herself gazing at Serena, naked and bathed in the moonlight flooding through a gap in the hastily drawn curtains.

 _I should get up and close them,_ she thinks. _Otherwise we’ll be in for a rude awakening._

But it’s far too delightful and comfortable and _right_ lying here, eyes tracing every faded scar and freckle, every highlighted ridge and shadowy dip of Serena’s back, thrown into relief by the silvery light. She seems to glow, ethereal and otherworldly, as if she’s a dream that will vanish with the dawn.

But she isn’t.

And neither of them is planning on vanishing any time soon.

 _Or ever,_ Bernie thinks. _I’m home now._

She shifts closer, reaches to gently touch Serena, hand smoothing up her spine to rest on her scapula. She’s warm and solid and real, and Bernie smiles at the wonder of her, of them. Of being here, now, together, their breaths in perfect harmony as Bernie closes her eyes and drifts back to sleep.


	3. can’t pull you closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from _Eavesdrop_ by The Civil Wars (again).

It’s the first conference they’ve attended together, two days on the latest developments in trauma medicine at a mid-range hotel somewhere on the outskirts of Sheffield. Serena remains amazed that Hanssen has approved both of them going, was convinced he would call one of them in at the last minute, but no. Here they are, side by side at the front desk to check in.

‘Oh, I’m afraid there’s been an error with your booking.’

‘Yes?’ Serena says mildly, but Bernie can hear the steel in her voice.

‘We seem to have double booked the room. I’m so sorry.’

‘But you do have another room?’

‘Ye-es.’ The girl taps away on the computer. ‘But there are no doubles left, just twins.’

Bernie feels Serena tense beside her, puts a gentle hand on her arm. ‘That’ll be fine,’ she pauses, squints at the girls’ name badge, ‘Dawn.’

‘But we’ll be expecting a discount,’ Serena adds, and the girl nods hurriedly, apologises profusely.

‘It isn’t all bad,’ Bernie murmurs as the concierge is leaving. She slides her arms around Serena, draws her close.

‘No?’ Serena fumes.

‘No,’ Bernie soothes, kissing the sensitive spot on the side of Serena’s neck. ‘I mean, the beds might be small, but I’m sure we can both squeeze into one.’

*

Bernie has learned not to be jealous any more when Serena flirts as she networks. It’s just who she is – devastatingly, effortlessly gorgeous, charming, witty, eloquent – and Bernie wouldn’t want her any other way. Now, after dinner, she just watches, glass in hand, and enjoys. She’s never been especially comfortable with this sort of thing, but Serena is in her element (well, one of them) and she’s a joy to behold.

Besides, however much she sparkles it has none of the heat or joy of their own flirting. Serena catches her eye every now and then from across the room, with a smile or a wink (both of which do funny things to Bernie’s stomach, a fact Serena is well aware of).

And then there’s a grimace, and Bernie finishes her drink and swoops into action; she promised to have Serena’s back, all those months ago, and while a lot may have changed since then this hasn’t. Serena can get herself out of it, they both know that, but Bernie’s been watching closely (and who could blame her, really?). She’s been stuck in this conversation getting more bored by the minute, her companion clearly flirting and, if the way Serena’s eyebrows just shot up is anything to go by, being rather more suggestive than she’s comfortable with. Bernie edges closer, gives Serena chance to extricate herself gracefully, but no luck.

 _Some men just can’t take a hint,_ Bernie thinks grimly.

This time when Serena looks at her there’s a plea in her eyes, a clear invitation for rescue.

‘There you are, darling,’ Bernie smiles, sidling up beside her and slipping an arm around her waist. She still feels a thrill at being able to do this – and the man’s shocked (impressed? Jealous?) expression adds a certain something too (not that she’d ever admit this to Serena, of course). ‘Another drink?’

‘Sounds wonderful,’ Serena smiles, her face lighting up (and Bernie suspects it’s not just from the prospect of more wine). ‘Would you excuse me?’ she says to her companion, sweeping away before he can answer.

Turns out it had nothing whatsoever to do with the wine. Serena leads her straight past the bar, out to the lift.

‘He was deadly dull,’ Serena says as they wait, leaning into Bernie’s side.

‘I don’t think he’d agree with that assessment of your conversation,’ Bernie smirks.

‘Not jealous, darling?’ Serena teases.

‘Not in the slightest,’ Bernie smiles as they get into the lift. ‘After all, he’s not the one who gets to share a ridiculously narrow bed with you for the next two nights.’

*

For safety they choose the bed against the wall, Serena pressed between it and Bernie without complaint because a) why on earth would she ever complain about being pressed against Bernie? And b) she knows without being told that Bernie would probably feel trapped, would rather sleep on the outside where she can escape. (And where she can protect Serena, a chivalrous, atavistic, unnecessary, heteronormative urge but one she can’t seem to shake. And which, to her great surprise, Serena finds sweet rather than irritating.)

The mattress is lumpy, and the springs creak and groan under their combined weight as they shuffle into a comfortable position. Serena wraps herself around Bernie, nose pressed into her scapula, hand grasping her hip, fingers stretching, edging towards her centre.

Bernie buries her face in the flat pillow, grips the edge of the mattress to keep herself from falling off as Serena kisses her shoulder, as her hand sneaks lower, lazily tracing her through her underwear.

There’s nothing lazy about what happens when she pushes that underwear aside. The loudly complaining mattress can attest to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should point out that I have nothing against Sheffield, I just picked a city at random.


	4. seas where she would dive for pearls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from _Anne Hathaway_ (Carol Ann Duffy).

Cam and Jason have just taken the last of the boxes down to the van. The flat is empty, bare apart from the furniture it came with, their handbags and jackets, the two sets of keys on the kitchen counter. Serena insists on checking everywhere one last time, and when Bernie’s obediently looked into all the kitchen cupboards she sees her staring almost longingly into the bedroom.

‘Penny for them?’ she asks softly.

Serena turns and Bernie sees that her eyes are darkened and glittering, feels the same rush of desire she does every time Serena looks at her like this.

‘I never did get to taste you on that bed,’ she muses, and Bernie gulps.

*

It was a rare midweek morning off together. Serena had Bernie’s legs over her shoulders, lips inches from her, breath teasing her, when they were interrupted by a hammering at the door.

‘Ignore it,’ Serena growled, pressing a kiss to the inside of Bernie’s thigh, but the knocking continued, joined by a shout for help.

Reluctantly, with a huff of frustration, Serena let her go and Bernie scrambled up, slipping yesterday’s abandoned shirt over her head.

‘Coming,’ she called, hopping as she pulled on her jeans.

Serena flopped back onto the bed, desperately hoping this was only going to briefly pause proceedings rather than bring them to an end. But no such luck. Bernie’s upstairs neighbour had sliced the side off one of his fingers, was bleeding all over the place.

‘Last time I tell any of my neighbours I’m a doctor,’ Bernie muttered to Serena as they both made themselves presentable. ‘You don’t need to come too.’

‘May as well. Unless you’d rather I stayed here. In your bed. All on my own,’ she teased, eyes glinting.

Bernie groaned, looked up at the ceiling, clasped her hands tightly to keep herself from reaching for Serena.

‘Thought not,’ Serena grinned, slowly buttoning her blouse and sauntering over to Bernie, fingers just barely brushing her arm. ‘Come on then, Ms. Wolfe. To the rescue.’

Bernie grabbed her wrist, pulled her close and kissed her hard. ‘This isn’t over,’ she promised.

But the rest of the morning slipped away with cleaning and dressing Kevin’s finger, with the tea and home made cake pressed on them when Bernie’s stomach growled loudly.

Mug empty Serena glanced at the clock, shocked to see the time. ‘I’m afraid I need to get going,’ she apologised, regret filled eyes meeting Bernie’s. ‘Duty calls.’

*

‘Why don’t I send Cam and Jason on ahead?’ Bernie suggests, voice rough and low. ‘They can start unloading while we… attend to things.’

‘Excellent idea,’ Serena husks, gazing at her hungrily, turning away when Cam comes back so he can’t see the lust in her eyes.

‘Is that it?’ he asks.

‘Yes,’ Bernie says, fighting to keep her voice steady. ‘You and Jason get going and make a start at the other end, we’ll catch you up.’

‘Okay,’ he says slowly, frowning. His gaze flicks between Bernie’s flushed cheeks and Serena, lingering just inside the bedroom with her back to him, and he grins, then grimaces. ‘Oh. Okay,’ he repeats, backing away hurriedly. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,’ he calls, winking at his mother, shutting the front door firmly behind him.

Bernie watches from the window until the van is safely away and has turned onto the main road. Then she hurries to join Serena on the bare mattress, already unbuttoning her jeans and pushing them over her hips before she’s across the threshold.


	5. Seven Sisters

Serena arrives, bearing coffee, to find Bernie sat at her desk, staring at an envelope in her hands.

‘Everything alright?’ she asks warily.

Bernie looks at her, eyes wide. ‘It was waiting for me when I got in last night. Pretty sure it’s, uh- it’s my divorce.’

‘Ah. Would you like me to leave you to it?’

‘No,’ Bernie says quickly, reaching out to her. ‘I, um- I didn’t want to open it alone.’

Serena smiles softly, leans against Bernie’s desk and squeezes her hand. Bernie half smiles then returns her attention to the envelope. She turns it over, runs a finger along the seal then opens it and pulls out the contents. Serena keeps her eyes fixed on Bernie’s face as she reads, takes the trembling fingers Bernie holds towards her again and wraps them in both her hands.

Bernie lets out a shuddering sigh, the paper slipping from between her fingers and falling to the desk. She’d expected to feel relieved, happy, when it was all over but instead she just feels – empty? Reminded of all her failings, all her guilt, all the pain she’s inflicted.

‘It’s odd, isn’t it?’ Serena says softly, rubbing Bernie’s knuckles. ‘Seeing the words, that it’s officially over.’

Bernie nods, swallows back unexpected tears. Is fiercely grateful for Serena’s presence, her understanding, the way she can read her so well.

They don’t speak about it for the rest of the morning and Serena allows it, knows Bernie will talk to her when she’s ready. At lunchtime she slips away, comes back with Ric in tow and summons Bernie to their office with a look and a tilt of her head.

Bernie finds her packing her bag, and frowns. ‘Serena?’

‘We’re excused for the rest of the day.’

‘And tomorrow,’ Ric adds.

‘But I-’

‘No buts, Major,’ Serena says firmly. ‘Get your coat, we’ve got places to be.’

*

Bernie is fidgety the entire journey, out of Holby, down the motorway, along increasingly narrowing roads and lanes, hands clasping and unclasping in her lap, fingers tapping her leg, teeth worrying her lip until Serena’s sure it’ll bleed.

_I can kiss it better later._

She glances across to see Bernie staring out of the window, tension in every muscle. Returns her attention to the road, lets Bernie be with her thoughts. She knows the pattern by now: Bernie will clam up, turn in on herself, marinate and mull – and then reach for her, allow herself to be soothed by a look and a touch. And then – _then_ – she’ll open up. Serena’s a patient woman. No point pushing until she’s ready.

Serena’s eyes flick to her again. Bernie is clearly itching to _do_ , woman of action that she is, needs to work off all the tension.

 _Well that can certainly be arranged,_ she smiles to herself.

*

‘Places’ turns out to be a converted barn on a farm in the Quantocks. Bernie’s barely had time to take in the interior before Serena is bundling her back out of the door again. She trails behind as Serena leads the way down the track, turns off onto a footpath.

‘That’s where we’re heading,’ she says, pointing to a hill beyond the woodland. ‘Off you go.’

‘What?’ Bernie frowns.

Serena smiles. ‘Go on, I’ll catch you up.’

Bernie stares at her, eyes questioning.

‘Go on,’ she repeats.

Bernie bites her lip, searches Serena’s eyes, then half smiles and sets off. Serena follows at a much more leisurely pace, eyes on the woman in front of her far more than the landscape around them. Bernie gets further and further ahead the more they walk and Serena’s glad she chose such a long route, glad to have gauged her correctly and given her miles and miles of woodland and ridges to stride through.

Serena feels herself slowing down as she finally makes it up to the summit of the hill, out of breath and with aching legs despite how far she walks on the ward every day. Bernie’s stood beside a ring of seven old trees, gazing across the vale. Serena walks up behind her, stops with a foot of space between them and waits. After a moment Bernie reaches for her, slips a chilled hand into hers, lets out a quiet sigh.

They walk back still in silence, but Bernie doesn’t let go. She isn’t ready to talk but no longer feels the need to march, to try and outrun what’s been boiling inside her all day. Now she takes in the grazing ponies, the birdsong caught on the breeze, the swathes of bluebells covering the hillsides and carpeting the floor of the wood. And Serena, always Serena, warm and steady beside her.

It isn’t until they get back, until they’ve eaten and are sat together in bed reading, that Bernie feels something snap. She lifts a shaking hand to her mouth but it does nothing to quiet her sob. Books forgotten, slipping to the floor with thuds neither of them hear, Serena reaches for her immediately, draws her close and holds her tight as she cries. Holds her until there’s nothing left and she falls asleep.

*

Serena’s woken by Bernie’s lips on hers.

‘I don’t want you to think,’ she says fiercely, between kisses, ‘that I’m grieving the loss of my marriage, that I want it back. That I’m not the happiest I’ve ever been.’

‘I don’t,’ Serena replies, just as fiercely, hands winding into Bernie’s hair. ‘I don’t.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seven Sisters is a real ring of old beech trees on top of Cothelstone Hill in the Quantocks in Somerset, with a view across Taunton Vale. A herd of Exmoor ponies is used to help manage the vegetation.


	6. not alone

Bernie watches through the glass as Serena stares at the phone in her hand. Her fingers tremble so much when she finally touches the screen that Bernie can see it from here. She clenches her fists, wills all the strength she has to follow the path of her gaze, to transfer to Serena.

When she lifts the phone to her ear Bernie turns away, goes in search of water. It had just been an excuse to offer Serena some privacy but she’ll need it. And it’s something Bernie can do for her, something useful, however small. Something within her control.

She lingers a little. Calls to check on Jason (stable, sleeping. She sighs with relief). Goes to the toilet so she won’t have to leave Serena again if she wants her there. (And she isn’t sure, doesn’t know how Serena will react to this, knows she might push her away, might want to be alone. Not that Bernie would go far; she’ll spend all night on the floor outside Elinor’s room if she has to. But Serena gripped her hand so desperately earlier that Bernie thinks this won’t be the case. Hopes it won’t, hopes Serena will allow her to offer what comfort and support she can, however inept she might be at it).

*

She offers the cup to Serena when she returns, her other hand instantly settling on her shoulder. Serena stares at it for a moment then takes it, drains it, drops the empty cup to the floor beside her chair and returns her hand to the bridge of her nose.

‘He’s getting the first flight back,’ she says softly.

Bernie nods, then realises Serena can’t see her and squeezes her shoulder. ‘You should try and get some sleep.’

‘Yes,’ she sighs. ‘I suppose so.’

But she shows no sign of moving. Bernie shifts closer, rubs both of her shoulders, feels the shuddering of her breath.

‘I don’t want to go home,’ she manages.

‘Then we won’t,’ Bernie says simply.

Serena looks around at her. The pain on her face hurts, brings fresh tears rushing to pool in Bernie’s eyes.

‘A couple of hours in one of the on call rooms,’ she suggests, fingertips gently pressing into tense muscles.

Serena opens her mouth but no words come out. Instead she just nods, turns back to Ellie. ‘I won’t be long, darling,’ she says, touching her pale cheek.

She stands, hands on the edge of the bed to support herself, then reaches for Bernie’s fingers and grips them tightly, almost painfully.

‘Jason?’ she asks suddenly, and Bernie can see a flare of guilt at having forgotten about him.

‘He’s still stable,’ Bernie reassures, feels Serena sag against her with relief. ‘Come on.’

Serena takes one last look at Ellie. Bernie follows her gaze, takes in the bandages and lines and tubes, steels herself against the fresh surge of grief and anger at how _unfair_ this is.

*

She sits Serena on the edge of the bed, slips her hand from her grasp, switches on the lamp and heads for the door. She’s only taken one step towards it when Serena speaks.

‘Where are you going?’

Bernie turns her head at her voice, at the need in it, at how broken she sounds.

‘Just to let them know where we are, in case anything changes.’

Serena nods once. Her breathing is shallow, eyes lowered, shoulders hunched, hands clasped tightly in her lap as if she’s trying to derive something – comfort? Strength? – from it, from the space where Bernie’s hand was until a moment ago.

Bernie turns more fully. ‘I’m not leaving you, Serena,’ she says, gently but firmly.

Serena’s eyes, glassy and haunted, flick to hers.

‘I’m not leaving you,’ she repeats, and Serena swallows hard, nods again, presses her lips together in a tight line. ‘I won’t be long,’ she promises. ‘You get settled.’

She leaves while she still can. While she can still force her eyes from Serena’s, her hand to open the door, her legs to carry her along the corridor when every cell in her body feels like it’s being tugged back to Serena.

*

It takes her a little longer than she expected. Every nurse, doctor, porter stopped her with a word, a look, a kindness; everyone at Holby loves Serena, it turns out, not just their little AAU family. She holds herself together but when she gets back she leans on the door for a moment, palm pressed flat against the solid wood, trying to draw strength from it. Trying to will herself to be calm, steady, to be what Serena needs her to be right now. Then she takes a breath, as deep as the pain constricting her ribs will allow, pulls her shoulders back, straightens her spine.

When she turns she finds Serena still sat where she left her; she’s got as far as taking off her shoes, but that’s all. Bernie crosses the room, movements fast but smooth so as not to startle her, puts a glass of water on the cupboard acting as bedside table along with some painkillers ready for the raging headaches they’re both guaranteed to wake up with, and a packet of Hob Nobs pressed on her by one of the ITU nurses. She toes off her shoes, then moves to Serena.

‘Come on,’ she says softly. She carefully removes her earrings and drops them onto the cupboard, then draws her up so she can pull back the covers. Lowers her back down and gently pushes her shoulders, coaxing her to lie, tucks her in. Flicks off the lamp, waits a moment for her eyes to adjust so she can hurry around to the other side and slip in beside her.

She reaches out cautiously, hand gentle on Serena’s arm. Instantly Serena rolls over and curls into her, face burrowing into her neck, hand fisting her top as if she’s trying to drag her closer.

‘Bernie.’

Bernie responds by wrapping her arms around her as tight as she can, by kissing the top of her head and then burying her nose in her hair.

The sobs – harsh, ugly, keening sounds that tore from Serena’s throat, tore at Bernie’s heart – are done for now, but the tears seem never ending. Already they’ve soaked through the two layers Bernie’s wearing and she can feel the warm dampness against her skin. Here, in the dark with no one to see, Bernie’s own tears fall too. She fights to keep them silent, to keep her breathing as even as she can, to hold in the sobs she knows are there. _So much for British reserve._

‘I’ve got you,’ she whispers, in a voice so rough she barely recognises it as her own.

Serena nods, releases her grip on Bernie’s top to search blindly for her hand. She turns her face enough to press their joined fingers to her quivering lips.

‘Thank you,’ Serena whispers hoarsely.

‘For what?’

‘Saving Jason.’

‘There was – there was a moment when I – I wasn’t sure I’d be able to,’ Bernie confesses. _God, it could have been even worse._

‘But you did.’

‘You know me, never give up.’

She feels what she thinks is the fleeting ghost of a smile against the fingers still held to Serena’s lips, even as more tears drop onto them.

‘Thank you,’ she repeats. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done if–’ Her breath hitches, the words catching in her throat.

‘Don’t,’ Bernie murmurs. ‘I just wish I–’

‘Don’t,’ Serena echoes, squeezing her fingers. ‘Don’t, darling.’

But Bernie ignores her, guilt rising unstoppably. ‘I tried. I promise, I tried.’

‘I know,’ Serena soothes.

Bernie rages at herself because she should be the one doing the soothing, it isn’t her daughter who – she swallows down a sob.

‘I know you did,’ Serena repeats. ‘This isn’t–’ She inhales sharply. ‘This isn’t your fault.’

‘I know,’ Bernie sighs. ‘I just – God, I feel so helpless, Serena.’

Serena uncurls slightly so she can look at Bernie in the dimness. ‘You saved Jason’s life. And you’re here.’

Bernie’s glad Serena can’t see her properly, can’t see the anguish on her face. ‘I can’t make this right for you. I can’t fix this.’

‘No one can.’ Serena’s tears fall onto Bernie’s cheeks, mingling with her own. ‘But you’re here. I don’t know how to do this but I – I know I can’t do it alone.’

‘You don’t have to,’ Bernie says fiercely. She presses their wet lips together, tasting salt, and then gathers Serena to her again. ‘I’m here,’ she murmurs into Serena’s hair as they curl closer. ‘I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re not alone.’


	7. superheroes and dinosaurs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt from sevtacular.

In the middle of the odd, busy, post-Christmas-pre-New-Year week, Raf and Fletch invite Bernie and Serena for dinner.

‘To say thank you, for everything,’ Fletch explains.

‘And to get ahead on the gossip, no doubt,’ Serena teases.

‘You wound me,’ Fletch says, hand pressed over his heart. ‘Seriously though, you've done so much and it's been a tough few months for us all. We'd like to do something nice for you – both of you.’

Serena glances at Bernie, who nods slightly.

‘You won't catch me turning down Raf’s grandmother’s recipes,’ Serena smiles.

‘Anything we can contribute?’ Bernie asks.

‘Just your good selves,’ Raf smiles. ‘I've got it all covered.’

*

They pull up just behind Fletch, all three having worked long shifts containing far too many drunken festive mishaps, dash through chill rain and wind and into a warm house filled with delicious smells. Serena finds herself with Evie’s arms tightly wrapped around her middle almost as soon as she steps through the door, before she's even fully out of her wet coat. Bernie silently takes it from her, plucks the hat from her head and hangs them both along with her own, smiles as Evie starts chattering away and leads Serena to see a book she got for Christmas.

‘Come on,’ Fletch says. ‘I'll get you a drink.’

*

It turns into a long night. As they sit around a table laden with food, the four of them and three Fletchlings (Mikey’s at a friends for the night – ‘a blessing,’ Fletch sighs, ‘after the day we've had’), Bernie feels an unfamiliar swell of fondness, a sharp sense of what she lost by being on tour so much while Cameron and Charlotte were growing up. Serena notices the sudden shining in her eyes, reaches to cover her hand where it rests on the tablecloth, smiles softly when Bernie glances at her. She takes her next few mouthfuls one handed, until Bernie slips hers away to refill her plate with seconds.

After dinner (huge and excellent, enough to satisfy all of them and still leave leftovers) they relocate to sprawl on soft sofas with refilled glasses and quiet music on the stereo. Bernie is coerced into braiding Ella’s hair again, while Evie snuggles into Serena's side to hold a whispered conversation about boys - and girls, if Bernie's ears don't deceive her. When Serena's hand rests on her thigh she pauses in her task and glances around to find both Serena and Evie looking at her, one smiling and the other serious.

‘You love who you love,’ Serena says softly, eyes fixed on Bernie's.

‘And anyone has a problem with that, you send them straight to me,’ Bernie adds, and Evie giggles.

*

By the time Fletch has settled the younger two to sleep and Evie is happily tucked up reading, the weather has worsened. The rain, steady all day, is now sheeting down, driven in gusts by the rising wind, puddles spreading so that the road more closely resembles a river.

‘You're not going out in that,’ Fletch says.

‘No way,’ Raf agrees. ‘I'll sleep on the sofa.’

‘We can't kick you out of your own bed,’ Serena says firmly. ‘Or you,’ she adds when Fletch opens his mouth to protest.

‘Besides, you're both working tomorrow,’ Bernie adds. ‘It's much more important that you get a good night’s sleep. Mikey’s bed’ll be fine for us.’

‘It's tiny,’ Fletch points out. ‘I mean, it's plenty big enough for a twelve year old kid, but there are two of you.’

‘I don't know if you'd noticed,’ Serena says, snuggling against Bernie's side, ‘but we don't exactly have an aversion to being close to each other.’

Bernie blushes slightly, but nuzzled into the crook of her neck Serena doesn't notice, and Raf and Fletch just smirk fondly at the sight of their boss so tipsy and relaxed and open.

‘Fine,’ Raf relents. ‘I'll get you an extra blanket though – that duvet’ll never cover the both of you.’

*

So later, after they've all had more wine and Bernie has picked at the leftovers (‘how on earth have you got room for anything else, woman?’ Serena exclaims, and Bernie just grins and shrugs), Raf hands them spare toothbrushes and towels along with a large blanket, while Fletch does a quick tidy of Mikey's room.

‘Not the most luxurious bed for the night,’ he apologises.

‘It's fine,’ Serena smiles, touching his arm gently. ‘Thank you.’

They take it in turns in the bathroom, strip off enough clothes to be comfortable then settle under superhero bedding, pressed close so that neither of them is in danger of falling off.

Bernie grunts and grimaces, digs underneath her back and drops a stuffed dinosaur to the floor.

‘Not a fan of toys in bed, Ms. Wolfe?’ Serena teases, eyes flashing.

Bernie flushes, looks away uncomfortably. ‘Well I, um…’

Serena shifts so she can more easily look at her. ‘Bernie?’ she says softly.

‘I’m, well, if, uh, if you wanted to – that is if you like…’ She trails off again, biting her lip.

‘Bernie,’ Serena repeats, placing a gentle hand on her cheek.

‘I’d try anything for you, Serena.’

‘But?’

‘I like being able to feel you, all of you,’ she murmurs, still not meeting Serena’s eye.

Serena’s expression softens, and she smiles.

‘Why would I want a toy, a – an inanimate object inside me when I could have you?’ Bernie continues. ‘But if you want, I mean if you want me to,’ she adds hurriedly. ‘I wouldn’t ever want you to think you couldn’t–’

She’s cut off by Serena’s fingers lifting her chin, Serena’s lips swiftly pressed against hers.

‘Thank you,’ Serena says seriously. ‘Thank you for telling me. I did mean it as a throwaway joke.’

‘Of course you did,’ Bernie mutters, face glowing with embarrassment. _Stupid,_ she berates herself.

‘But I’m glad you told me, glad you felt you could. And I assure you, I’m quite happy with your fingers and tongue,’ Serena murmurs, lips brushing Bernie’s ear.

Bernie shivers, from the sensation, from her words, from her tone.

‘More than happy, in fact. Delighted. Ecstatic. Orgasmic,’ she purrs, tongue darting out to trace the shell of Bernie’s ear. ‘But should that ever change, you’ll be the first to know.’

Mindful of where they are Serena doesn't tease any further, merely kisses Bernie softly and settles against her again, tugging the duvet and blanket more securely around them.

‘Right,’ Bernie murmurs. ‘Right.’


	8. drowsy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena owns by far the most comfortable sofa Bernie has ever had the pleasure of sitting on. Which, of course, only serves to increase the likelihood of her falling asleep on it. Not that she’s the only one...  
> Four one-shots, each 100 words longer than the last.

Sunday evenings, Jason has decreed, are for natural history. Today is reruns of something from David Attenborough’s back catalogue: Bernie doesn’t know what, isn’t really paying attention. She’s comfortably full (roast chicken with all the trimmings, followed by a trifle laced rather liberally with sherry – her fault, for distracting Serena with kisses to her neck while she was making it), is lying with her head in Serena’s lap, Serena’s fingers carding through her hair. Her eyelids feel heavy, keep slipping closed leaving her confused when one moment there are penguins on screen, the next lions, the next a coral reef.

*

Serena doesn’t look at the clock when they finally make it through the door, doesn’t want to know what time it is, how late they were in theatre, how long it is since they left the house this morning. They sink onto the sofa, slump against each other.

‘What a day,’ she sighs.

‘Mm,’ Bernie replies.

She shuffles a little so she can drop her head to Bernie’s shoulder.

‘Should we – dinner?’ Bernie suggests tiredly.

‘In a minute,’ Serena says, closing her eyes.

‘Mmkay,’ Bernie agrees, resting her cheek on the top of Serena’s head. ‘Don’t go falling asleep on me now, hm?’

‘Only if you don’t.’

‘Deal.’

Bernie closes her eyes, breathes in Serena’s scent: her shampoo, her perfume, lingering NHS soap from when they scrubbed out. _Just for a moment,_ she thinks sternly, shifting to free her arm from between them and slipping it around Serena’s shoulders instead.

Serena snuggles into her, cheek rubbing against her shirt, and Bernie feels the puff of breath as she sighs again.

_Just for a moment._

Bernie wakes with a start, her neck screaming at her to move. _So much for that,_ she thinks wryly, jiggling her shoulder gently to rouse Serena.

*

Bernie hates funerals. Not the funeral itself so much as the people, the interaction, the small talk. She spent the afternoon desperate to hide in the bathroom but stayed beside Serena, their hands tightly clasped – because however uncomfortable she was, however much she despised it, she never for one moment actually considered that she should – _could_ – be anywhere else.

They’re home now, and Bernie can sense the energy seeping from Serena with every heartbeat. So she nudges her in the direction of the sofa while she heads upstairs with Jason, helps him settle into bed, checks he has a glass of water and his remote within reach.

And then back down to the kitchen. She puts the kettle on, pulls mugs from the cupboard, goes to ask Serena what she wants. But Serena is curled on the sofa, eyes closed. Bernie drapes a blanket over her, is about to go and make tea for herself when Serena’s hand brushes hers.

‘Stay?’ she asks, voice heavy with weariness and emotion.

Bernie looks down, meets eyes just as weary and sad, curls her fingers around Serena’s. ‘Tea?’

‘Think I’ve had quite enough already today,’ she says with a tiny smile.

Bernie smiles in return and tilts her head. Serena takes the hint, lets go of her hand, shuffles to make space. She looks at her questioningly and Bernie nods, pats her lap. Serena lies down again, sighs when she pillows her cheek on Bernie’s warm thigh, when Bernie tugs the blanket to cover her and then slips her hand under it to gently rub Serena’s arm.

Serena reaches for her other hand, brings it to her lips, closes her eyes as Bernie lets go in favour of running her fingers through her hair, over and over, until Serena’s breath deepens and evens.

*

They’ve made the most of having the house to themselves. Soft jazz on the stereo while they made dinner: scallops that Bernie dashed out to buy from the fishmonger on her lunch break (Jason refuses to eat seafood but they’re one of Serena’s favourites), followed by a slice of Black Forest gateau that caught her eye in the patisserie next door (and that somehow survived an afternoon in the break room fridge), kisses and caresses stolen as they moved around each other, the mix of comfort and chemistry that always surrounds them.

And then _Carol_ on the TV, Bernie leaning against the arm of the sofa with Serena cradled between her legs, head on her shoulder, Bernie’s cheek against her hair. More kisses and caresses to whichever parts of each other they can reach, warm and soft in the light from the screen and the standard lamp in the corner.

They don’t realise they’ve drifted to sleep until the DVD skips back to the menu, and Serena stirs, raises her head. Bernie moans softly as she shifts her weight and Serena smiles, runs her hand slowly up the back of Bernie’s thigh. Lets out a moan of her own when Bernie presses warm kisses to the side of her neck, when Bernie’s hands slide over her breasts and down her stomach until they sneak under the hem of her blouse and splay across bare skin, fingers just tucking under the waistband of her trousers.

‘Last bit you remember?’ Bernie murmurs against her skin.

Serena shivers, reaches to tangle her hand in Bernie's hair, arches her neck to offer better access. ‘New Years Eve.’

She feels Bernie's smile, the brief scrape of teeth followed by the dart of her tongue. ‘Only reason you want to watch it,’ she teases.

Serena blames her lack of response on the fact that Bernie's hands are now teasing her inner thighs, now pressing against her heat through her trousers, one finger following the line of her zip. Instead of words all she comes up with is a gasp.

Bernie's lips are languorous on her neck, behind her ear. Bernie's breath whispers across her skin.

Serena hums, smiles drowsily. Hums again, lower, as Bernie unbuttons her trousers, slips both hands inside. She doesn’t tease, just touches her slow and soft and unhurried, smiling lips against her neck all the while, luxuriating in the feel of her.


End file.
